


Vasoline

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Serenading Brad had all been part of Chester’s master plan to get into the guitarist's pants...only this isn't just about sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vasoline

Chester flops down at the table next to Brad and stares at the guitarist hard. He’s doing a crossword. An Xbox, two Playstations and every movie under the sun and the man is doing a crossword. Chester rolls his eyes, rests his elbows on the table and cups his chin in his hands. Brad doesn’t even look up when the older man starts to sing.

“One time a thing occurred to me”

Stone Temple Pilots. What else? And Brad grumbles “Shut up or I’ll punch you.”

“What’s real, and what’s for sale?” Chester’s voice is soft, quiet, all for Brad. “What’s real, and what’s for sale?”

“In the neck, Chester. I’ll punch you in the neck.”

And Chester goes “It isn’t you, isn’t me” then “Five down,” he points, jabbing a finger at the puzzle “‘agitation’”.

“You can say that again,” Brad growls, but fills it in anyway.

They sit in comfortable silence for a long moment, Brad staring hard at the crossword in front of him and Chester staring hard at Brad. People don’t realise how beautiful he is, Chester thinks, they can’t see it. That could be because Brad can’t see it – it’s no secret that the guitarist doesn’t care much for his appearance. He once started telling Chester a story of his past and his father and how he was never good enough but Mike interrupted half way through and there never seems to be a good moment to bring the subject up again.

“Search for things that you can’t see.” Chester sings in his whisper-soft voice again, “Going blind, out of reach.”

Brad sighs and rolls his eyes and mutters, “Chester,” and his voice is all warning. No joking now. But Chester can’t help himself.

“Somewhere in the Vaseline”

And Brad gets up, shoves past Chester and storms away to the back of the bus.

And somewhere he hears Mike laugh.

***

Serenading Brad had all been part of Chester’s master plan which had been given the code name ‘get-into-Delson’s-pants’. The only person he had told about his master plan was Rob, who had raised an eyebrow and shook his head, muttering something about finding a groupie to fuck. But this isn’t just about sex. At first he thought it was, but then he began to notice more and more that his chest ached when he was near Brad and his words came out all rushed and mixed up and his natural clumsiness was amplified tenfold.

The last time he fell in love was with Sam. He was nineteen and she was his world. Since she left it’s been all about sex, not love. Experience has taught him that love hurts. A lot. But now he found himself falling head-over-heels for Brad and he couldn’t help it.

That night, after the failed serenading, Chester crawled into Brad’s bunk in just his boxers. Then he realised that said boxers were torn at the waistband and somehow that took away from the sexiness of the idea. So he changed into a black pair, sans holes, and clambered back into the bunk.

He lay on his back staring at the roof. He knew Brad wouldn’t be long – there’s only so long anybody can talk to Mike, even if he is your best friend – and was trying to work out what he would say when he arrived. In his head he had mental images of the guitarist pulling back the curtain and looking shocked, then smiling, then climbing in with him. They’d kiss, of course, slow and loving and Brad’s hands would be cool on his skin, tracing his tattoos and pinching his nipples.

He dozes off more than once and catches himself, rubs at his eyes tiredly and wonders what the fuck they’re doing. He’s so tired, but he can’t go to sleep. Not yet. He has to do this.

When he opens his eyes again he’s still alone. There’s a tiny sliver of light creeping through the privacy curtain and with it drifts voices. Mike, of course, because all he ever does it talk and…Brad? Perhaps. Chester isn’t sure, because they’re whispering and he almost doesn’t want to hear.

Their hushed voices continue for a while and Chester just lies on his side, staring blankly at the curtain.

“So he’s in there now?” Mike asks.

Chester figures he just forgot to whisper because Brad shushes him urgently and murmurs “Yeah, I opened the curtain and he was there. Out for the count too.”

“He was probably blotto.” Mike snorts and Brad shushes him again with a soft laugh and Chester has heard all he needs to hear.

He tears back the curtain and drops into the aisle, pads into the bathroom and closes the door. The voices are silent, now, but Chester doesn’t feel any better. So that’s all Brad thinks of him, then? That he’s a drunken idiot and just keeps doing all these stupid things for attention?

The thing that hurts the most is that he’s not really that far from the truth.

***

Chester avoids Brad after that. His master plan goes out of the window and he berates himself silently. He really should have seen this coming – after all, he knew love would hurt him again. Knew it but let it happen anyway. Not that it’s a big deal, in the grand scale of things, because there are much worse things happening in the world right now. He thinks of the starving families in Africa and he thinks of AIDs and cancer and only then does he feel a little less pathetic.

When he sees Brad and Mike together later and they’re both poring over a crossword like the big fucking dorks that they are he reminds himself that he’s not dying. He’ll get through this.

And Mike goes “Ten across...'despondent'”

And Brad fills it in.


End file.
